Encounter
by Erythros
Summary: A random encounter in the rain. [Draco/Hermione]


**Author's Notes:** Soooooo I found this on my laptop, had a read and was insanely curious as to how I was gonna continue this. I thought it'd be a waste to leave it wasting away in my folder. Here you go! I honestly still have a draft of the next chapter of _Halfway There_ lying around as well, but it's not even halfway finished. Huh. =_=

 **Encounter**

She saw him once.

He was standing just outside Flourish and Blotts, caught in the evening rain. His hair was plastered over his forehead, and his hands were crossed, shivering, from the cold.

She hadn't seen him in two years since the celebration of the war's end. She hadn't thought of him since then, hadn't sought his appearance in any of the anniversaries, and yet—

Her feet were slowly, cautiously carrying her over to where he stood.

She stopped behind him as he looked the other way. Her umbrella hung over his head just a little bit, to protect him from the rain. He didn't notice immediately, and she felt awkward, her arm outstretched before her, to shelter this taller, pale boy.

When he _did_ finally notice, he looked back at her. Light grey eyes shifted in slow recognition of her, and then—

"Granger."

She smiled.

* * *

Yellow.

That was the first thing he noticed. The umbrella hanging above his head was the colour yellow. It was such a happy colour. Such a _disgustingly_ cheery colour, so _Hufflepuff_ , so bright and so _cheap_.

The next thing he noticed was that it was a girl's hands holding it up. A girl who, in the next few seconds, he realized was someone he apparently knew. Someone he thought he wasn't ever going to see again. Someone he would rather have forgotten and left in the past.

But here she was, wild hair slightly dampened by the rain, bright brown eyes staring at him uncertainly. Holding up her ugly yellow umbrella, in the middle of an autumn evening shower, and sharing her shelter.

"Granger."

He watched her lips curl up in a small smile.

"Malfoy."

And then it began.

* * *

They sat across from each other.

He was drinking firewhiskey; she was drinking butterbeer. They were just two of five people inside The Leaky Cauldron, and while there was the option of Disapparating for _her, he_ was stuck. The rain from earlier that evening had only progressed to a fiercer downpour, and her Muggle umbrella just couldn't handle it.

And that was how they got to this point. A casual invitation, a hesitant yes. He didn't _want_ to be here, that much was obvious, but he'd agreed anyway. Why? She didn't know, and her curiosity of what he'd done and where he'd been in the last two years had gotten the better of her.

"France," he said, when she asked. "We were there the whole time. Banished, more like."

That made sense. His last name, after all, was technically French. _Bad faith._ He probably had family there, too. And his family was ostracized, more or less, from Britain's wizarding society even if they'd been given a reprieve by the Ministry.

She almost pitied him. Pitied him because his mistakes were a child's mistakes. They were _all_ children when it happened, after all. At the end he'd only done things to protect his family. It was almost noble. _Almost_. And she felt bad for him, _almost—_ if only he hadn't been so nasty when they were growing up.

If she were to describe him, he looked defeated. Elegant still, but without the confidence he'd had back then.

"Then why are you back?"

His pale eyes gazed at her. The smirk he gave her was almost friendly.

"Just to see if there was something to return to, Granger. I doubt there is, but I'm still looking."

* * *

She looked the same, really.

Wild hair kept back in a loose bun, brown eyes ever so alive. But she had grown—dare he say it— prettier.

But again, she was _Granger._ That hadn't changed, of course, apart from the fact that they had willingly grabbed a drink with each other upon a chance encounter. He saw her twelve year old self in the way she stared at him, her fifteen year old self in the way she wrung her hands. She probably saw him the same way—his sixteen year old self in the way he answered quietly, his eleven year old self in the way he showed that he would have liked it very much to not be here with her. But—

He'd told her _things._ Little truths. Like that bit about wanting to come back home. Like the next thing he'd told her.

"I miss my old life. You know, before _that_ happened."

And she had been a part of it, _almost_ integral, even, in his old life. Familiar. And _familiar_ , on a rainy, bitterly cold evening, was comforting.

She nodded in understanding, even smiling because she knew what he was getting at.

* * *

Two hours passed and she _knew_ he liked her company. He hadn't shooed her away yet, or pretended to be late for another meeting. Then again, he'd already admitted that he was, at this point, an outcast. He'd be meeting no one in Wizarding London for quite a bit.

Once or twice tonight, his grey eyes glinted in amusement. When he thought she wasn't looking, she _knew_ he stared. Maybe because this was altogether strange, for the both of them. She couldn't even imagine telling Ron or Harry about tonight. She couldn't even believe it herself that she'd gone ahead and approached him tonight without thinking. But there it was and she hadn't expected a bit of decency in him.

"And you, Granger? Still with the Weasel then?"

"None of your business, Malfoy."

"And here I thought we'd become friends tonight. Come on, tell me."

"No."

"Gonna marry him then?"

"What does it matter to you anyway?"

He shrugged.

* * *

When she finally left and Disapparated, he almost felt quite disappointed. He'd liked her company, and he was surprised by that little fact. When he drank the last bit of his firewhisky and stood up, he noticed a dash of yellow in between his seat and hers.

It was her umbrella. Yellow and ugly and just offensively bright.

She'd left it behind.

He almost thought she'd left it for him, considering _everyone_ knew he couldn't use magic for one more year.

He picked it up and grasped it at its handle.

It only made sense that he'd have to see her again soon to return it.

And oddly enough, the thought made him smile.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** Let's see if I get enough inspiration (and time) to continue this. Hee. I honestly had a blast having discovered this lying around in my documents folder so much so that I couldn't even remember what plot I was driving at exactly when I was reading this! What do you think?


End file.
